


It All Comes Rushing Up

by FrancesHouseman



Series: Dreams and Fantasies [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is on to him. The feelings Dean has been hiding for the better part of two decades are out in the open and Dean can’t meet Sam’s eyes. When he does it’s like an X-ray or something. He feels like an open book, the kind that is age restricted and stacked on the top shelves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It All Comes Rushing Up

 

Sam is on to him. The feelings Dean has been hiding for the better part of two decades are out in the open and Dean can’t meet Sam’s eyes. When he does it’s like an X-ray or something. He feels like an open book, the kind that is age restricted and stacked on the top shelves.

 

The urge to flee has given over to the need to make things okay. Dean really hates this soul-baring chick-flick crap but recognizes that time is his enemy in this scenario. They need to hash it out, control the damage quickly. He can’t lose Sam. Everything else is secondary.

 

It’s late evening. They’re sitting together, a couch each set at right angles to the other. Sam is as close to Dean’s couch as possible, Dean as far away as the seat allows. Dean is no stranger to whisky but right now he feels like a kid with an illicit substance. It doesn’t taste right and the tumbler feels foreign in his hand.

 

“So I was asleep for six hours and you couldn’t wake me?” Sam pauses thoughtfully. “It did get dark in the dream but it felt like minutes, not hours. And Garth has Kevin?”

 

Dean grunts and stares at his hands. They look expensive, the glass tumblers, tinted brown at the base. He doesn’t know how to make this right. He feels so small; so lost. He hates feeling like this. There’s silence and he wants to break it but can’t. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sam wasn’t supposed to find out. Somehow he has managed to corrupt Sam, taint him with his perversity, and the worst thing about it all is that Dean still wants to cross the space between them, take Sam’s face in his hands and kiss him until neither of them can remember what incest is or who they are. It’s an urge he feels in all of his body, his muscles twitching and poised to just do it.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean forces himself to look. Sam is going to make light of it and say that it was only a dream. They’re going to laugh about it until it’s buried and Dean can do it. He has watched Sam jump into Hell, held him in his arms while he died, weaned him off demon blood and stolen him back twice from possible happiness with women he loved. So yeah, Dean can do this too, he just needs to get a fucking grip. He makes himself maintain eye contact and feels like his skin is being flayed by the sharpness of Sam’s scrutiny. He has no idea how he can hide from Sam anymore, with this new intelligence, but he has to try. He has to do better than try; he has to make it work.

 

But Jesus Christ, Sam had said, _Love it when you beg_ , as though he dreams of sucking Dean off on a regular basis. Anger rises up in Dean from nowhere and it’s so very welcome because he knows how to be angry with himself; he can use it. He just needs to keep it in his fucking pants and that really shouldn’t be outside of his capability, particularly when the penalty for not doing so is _losing Sam_. He straightens up a bit and takes a drink, holding Sam’s gaze the whole time.

 

Something happens to Sam’s face that makes it softer. It’s not a pitying look exactly, more of a tenderness. Dean tries to brace himself. This is the moment when his heart is going to break in two, he can feel it starting as Sam opens his mouth to speak.

 

“When I was twelve you fixed my RC jeep.”

 

“Yeah.” Not quite what he had been expecting. Perhaps Sam is drawing him out, making him implicit in his own murder. It’s no less than he deserves. “Radio transmitter came loose in the remote control. Wasn’t too difficult to fix.”

 

“Bobby said get a new one, so did Dad, but I loved that jeep. You fixed it for me and that’s when I fell in love with you.”

 

“Sam…”

 

“No,” Sam holds up a hand, “Shut up and let me talk okay? Twelve, thirteen, sex and girls right? Not for me Dean. Thought I’d grow out of it. Of you. But I never did,” he pauses and bites his lips together, “Never wanted to.”

 

“But…”

 

“Not finished. Shut up okay?” There’s another pause as Sam looks at the arm of the couch and gathers his thoughts. Then he nods his head, looks up and starts again. “Dean, you have to understand how long I’ve _wanted_ you. Do you know how many times I’ve… I’ve _thought_ about you? You have to understand that there’s just no way I can let this go if there’s even the slightest chance that I could have you like that… that way.” He shakes his head, as though he needs to reinforce the statement. “God. The things… the things I want to _do_ to you Dean. Fuck.”

 

There’s a reason that they can’t do this, Dean’s sure of it but he can’t for the life of him remember what it is. Sam has wanted Dean for as long as Dean has wanted Sam. Something terrible is building up inside Dean. It sounds like a chant or a drum: _Sam, Sam, Sam,_ pounding in time with his heart, drawing into a crescendo. It’s going to explode soon and kill them both. Dean grips the arm of the couch and his tumbler. He doesn’t know why he’s fighting it anymore, what he’s holding on for, only that it’s second nature and once this thing is loose he won’t be in control; he will be freefalling and it’s going to happen any moment now.

 

“Dean?” Sam suddenly looks unsure. “I haven’t got this wrong have I?”

 

The look of doubt on Sam’s face cracks the paralysis holding Dean in place. He’s over there, on his knees before Sam and Sam is uncurling and pulling Dean up onto the couch with him. They kiss awkwardly sitting side by side and Dean is trembling like a virgin. Then he remembers how Sam kissed him in the dream, the kiss that he hasn’t been letting himself think about, and it all comes rushing up. He drags Sam to his feet and there’s nothing tentative about it anymore. He kisses Sam like his life depends upon it, tasting Sam, _Sammy_ , and it’s never going to be enough. Sam’s hands get all over him, his own twist in Sam’s hair, yanking and soothing. They need to be horizontal rightthefucknow and the couch isn’t going to cut it, so he grabs a handful of Sam, his shirt perhaps, and drags him to Dean’s room.

 

Dean is still shaking as they hump into each other on the bed. He feels like a creature with a frenzied bloodlust and he is finally going to be allowed to drown in Sam, and to hell with the consequences. They get out of their clothes, clumsily and far too slowly, and then they grope, tongue fuck, roll and rut together like the world is ending again. Sam pushes him down laughing and pins him, one giant hand on his chest, and Dean thinks deliriously, _Sam is happy, Sam is happy_ , over and over.

 

Sam goes down on him and he nearly blows his load right then because this is no dream. He tugs urgently at Sam’s hair, wanting to wait for Sam, to come together or afterwards, and kind of hoping that Sam won’t stop anyway. Sam draws himself off Dean’s cock with an obscene slurp and smirk and reaches into the drawer for Dean’s hand lotion. Two thoughts clammer in Dean’s brain: _Oh fuck Sam’s going to fuck me,_ and _How does he know where that is?_

 

“You’ve been in here?” Dean pants, because it’s the easier train of thought by a long way.

 

“Oh yeah,” Sam’s voice is black velvet and the quirk of his eyebrows leaves no doubt about what he has been up to in Dean’s room, on Dean’s bed.

 

“Shit.” Dean has to push at the base of his cock and fight back his arousal because that is the hottest fucking thing he has ever thought of.

 

Dean makes it through Sam fingering him without coming all over the place, for which he deserves a fucking medal, especially with Sam looking at him the whole time like he can hear his thoughts and feel what Dean feels. He’s never done this before, not beyond a few fingers anyway, and he should probably be a lot more nervous but he’s so horny that he would let Sam do anything to him. Hell, he wants Sam to do everything to him, _right now_. He has vague worries about this making him a girl or something but Sam is so obviously dying to possess him. He has a ridiculous number of hickies and bruises where Sam has bitten him and Sam growled _Mine_ between bites, as if he needed another clue. And he knew already that it would start this way, although he never let himself think about it too clearly. Sam gets whatever he wants from Dean, always has, always will. Dean is so doing this to Sam though, next time.

 

 _Next time_ , Dean thinks as Sam pushes into him, and it’s a wonderful thought, and, _Oh_ _it burns_.

 


End file.
